Part 19 (1/2)
”In what way, may I ask?”
Mr. Reed's tone became impressive:
”I am--a water witch.”
Wallie looked puzzled.
”Some call it magic, but the fact is, I am able to locate water with a forked willer and you can call it anything you want to.”
Wallie regarded the worker of miracles with fresh attention. His belief in his own powers was evidently so sincere that even a skeptic could not fail to be impressed by him.
He continued:
”With my divinin' rod I have flew in the faces of the biggest geologists in the country and found water where they said there wasn't any.”
”Will the divining rod tell you how far you must dig for it?”
”Pretty close to it. I count a foot to every bob of the willer.”
”In a state like Illinois where there is a great deal of moisture I presume it would be possible to get water anywhere if one went deep enough, but in Wyoming--frankly, I should not like to rely on the divining rod in Wyoming, Mr. Reed.”
Mr. Reed looked somewhat offended and declared with spirit:
”I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll make you a sportin' proposition. I'll test the ground with the willer and if it says we'll get water at a certain depth and we don't strike it, I'll dig till we do, for nothin', if we have to go till we hear the Chinamen gibber. That's fair, ain't it?”
Wallie could not gainsay it.
”I got a willer on my saddle and it won't cost nothin' for a demonstration. Say the word,” persuasively, ”and you've good as got a fine, flowing well of water.”
It would do no harm to let the water witch make his test, Wallie decided, so he followed sheepishly in the wake of Rufus and his willow as he walked over the greater part of the one hundred and sixty acres.
”'Tain't nowise plentiful,” the latter admitted, as with each hand gripping a p.r.o.ng of the willow he kept his eyes fixed upon it. ”But if it's here I'm bound to find it, so don't get discouraged.”
Expecting nothing, Wallie was not disappointed.
At the top of a draw some hundred and fifty yards from the cabin Rufus suddenly halted.
”I felt somethin',” he said, hopefully.
”Where?” Wallie asked, interested.
”In my arm--like pins and needles--it's a symptom. She's goin' to bob!”
Excitedly. ”You watch and count along of me.”
The willow bobbed unmistakably.
”Sixty-eight!” They finished together.
”I told you!” Rufus cried, triumphantly. He stamped his foot: ”Right here is where you'll strike it.” His tone was as positive as if he saw it flowing beneath the surface.